


the perfect knight

by djelibeybi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Book canon compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post LSH, multiple POVs, weak attempt at plot but really it's just as many clichés as i can fit into six chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djelibeybi/pseuds/djelibeybi
Summary: After hearing worrying rumours about his daughter, Lord Selwyn Tarth wants Brienne home and married. He does not expect her to arrive with the Kingslayer.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 382
Kudos: 717





	1. Selwyn I

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never really written a multichap fic before and I'm kinda scared because I really cannot stress enough how little plot there is in this. The good news is that it's more or less finished already so I'll be updating weekly. Hope you enjoy!

“You’ve heard what they’re saying about Brienne _,_ ” said Lord Eldon Estermont bluntly after downing his first cup of wine.

Selwyn frowned at his old friend, sitting across from him in his solar. As always, his heartbeat quickened at the mention of Brienne. He had heard little and less about his daughter since Renly had been killed, and the thought of her had been a knot of anxiety in his stomach ever since. The last word he’d had from her was a brief note telling him that she was in King’s Landing under the protection of the Lannisters, that she would not be tried for Renly’s murder, and not to worry about her. It had explained nothing, and only served to worry him even more. _I never should have let her go to Storm’s End,_ he thought, not for the first time.

“What are they saying?” he asked.

“Apparently she’s roaming around the Riverlands with the Kingslayer.”

“The Kingslayer?”

That could not be right. He knew, from piecing vague snippets of information together, that Brienne had been charged by Lady Catelyn Stark with bringing the Kingslayer back to King’s Landing in return for Catelyn’s daughters, which it seemed she had done, though the girls were both missing by the time they got there. There was no reason for her to be back in the Riverlands, and especially not with him.

“I heard they killed Lady Stoneheart together, the leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Some say she was Catelyn Stark back from the dead. Now they’re seemingly travelling around the Riverlands with a little boy and some hedge knight.” Eldon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Selwyn, but they’re calling her the Kingslayer’s whore.”

Selwyn’s blood grew hot. “Idiotic rumours,” he snapped. “I know my Brienne, as do you. You degrade yourself by listening to this nonsense.”

Eldon hesitated, then pressed on. “I’m sure it’s been exaggerated, Selwyn, but there is something in it. Alyn wrote to me that Ronnet Connington returned to King’s Landing with a broken nose, and that he’s telling everyone the Kingslayer did it to him because he insulted Brienne.”

That gave Selwyn pause. Hitting Red Ronnet Connington was something he had often imagined doing himself, but he could not understand why Jaime Lannister would feel the same. “I cannot imagine the Kingslayer concerning himself with my daughter’s honour.”

Eldon shrugged. “I can’t either, but my son has no reason to lie, and he heard it from Connington himself. Apparently the Kingslayer abandoned his men at Pennytree and went off with Brienne and nobody has seen him since. Then all these rumours about Stoneheart started coming out of the Riverlands.” He poured himself another cup of wine without invitation. “That’s what everyone in King’s Landing is saying.”

Suddenly Selwyn needed wine himself. “This sounds like the kind of ludicrous gossip spread by singers and tavern wenches,” he said sharply as he poured it. “Why in the Mother’s name would the Kingslayer abandon his men to go wandering around the Riverlands with my daughter? He is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard now, is he not? Surely he has more important things to do.”

“It is not in his interests to go rushing back to the capital, as it happens,” said Eldon conspiratorially. “Queen Cersei has been put on trial by the High Septon. I imagine he’s been implicated in her crimes. Or perhaps she wants him to defend her in a trial by combat, but he can’t fight without his sword hand. Either way, he’s better off away from there.”

Selwyn absorbed this, then shook his head. “But with Brienne? When Brienne was a child I would tell her the story of the Mad King and the wicked knight who slew him. She thought it was the worst thing she had ever heard.” A small smile came unbidden to his lips as he remembered the lanky child who had once sat on his knee, staring up at him with rapt blue eyes while he told her tales of knightly valour. “She would want naught to do with the Kingslayer. And he would surely want naught to do with her.”

“Mayhaps she changed her mind when she met him,” said Eldon carefully. “They do say he’s the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Selwyn glared at him. “When have you ever known my daughter to be swayed by a pretty face?”

Eldon looked down at his cup. “She fell quick enough for Renly.”

“Renly wasn’t perfect, but he knew how to present himself as the chivalrous hero. And he was no kingslayer.”

Eldon sighed. “I am not trying to accuse Brienne. These tales are as bizarre to me as they are to you. But, true or not, they are spreading all over the realm, and you know as well as I do that there is nothing so precious nor so fragile as a highborn maid’s reputation. If you want to save Brienne’s, you must needs summon her home and get her married as soon as you possibly can.”

Selwyn barked an incredulous laugh. “Get her married? By the gods, have I not been trying? What makes you think I can manage it now?”

Eldon leaned forward, his expression serious. “Lady Shyra Errol is dead. She was taken suddenly a few weeks ago, and her son Sebastion is now Lord of Haystack Hall. He is young, younger even than Brienne, and still unmarried. Nobody expected him to succeed to the lordship so soon; he will need to find a bride quickly.”

Selwyn leaned back in his chair, staring into space. Sebastion Errol. He had met the boy once or twice; he would be about nineteen now. Selwyn had not been much impressed by him; the lad was spoilt and coddled, an only son, with a permanent sneer and not much wit to speak of. But the Errols were a respectable house, if relatively minor, and Sebastion was a far better match than Ronnet Connington or Humphrey Wagstaff had ever been. If it meant Brienne home and safe, and Tarth’s future secured…

“I will write to him,” he said.

Lord Sebastion did not immediately agree to the betrothal, but he did agree to come to Tarth and meet Brienne, which was a start. The letter to Brienne was a much more difficult one to write. Eventually, Selwyn decided not to mention the potential betrothal, though guilt made his hand heavy as he wrote.

 _I am old,_ he wrote instead, _and I worry for you. I would like the comfort of having my only child home with me, where I know you are safe._ He considered mentioning the Kingslayer rumours also, then decided against it.

It was half a moon’s turn before Brienne responded. _Father, I am sorry I worried you,_ her letter said. _My only intentions are to make you proud. There is something I have to do, but if you need me, I will come home, at least for a time._

It was as vague as every other letter he had received from her, and did not fill him with confidence for the betrothal, but it was something. Brienne would come home, and he would convince her. She had always been a stubborn girl, but she did want to make him proud; that he knew. And he also knew that there was a part of her that was not averse to marriage, to motherhood; it was only that fools like Ronnet Connington had frightened her away from it, made her believe she was unworthy. She would be reluctant at first, but he would coax her into it. He would make her understand that this was her last chance.

Or so he believed; until Brienne arrived, a week later, with the Kingslayer.

Selwyn did not notice him at first. At first, all he could see was Brienne, the daughter he had missed for four years. She stepped out onto the dock, hesitating when she saw him, looking almost frightened, as though she thought he might turn her away. Then Selwyn strode over, his eyes filling with unexpected tears, and pulled her into his arms.

“Brienne,” he said gruffly, over the top of her head. He was still taller than her, but only by a little. “It’s good to see you again.”

Brienne pulled back and gave him a watery smile. “You too, Father.”

He was about to ask her about the bandage that covered her cheek when a man sauntered off the gangplank with a small boy behind him. Selwyn did not have to ask who the man was; it was obvious. The golden hair, the golden hand, the white cloak. Selwyn’s stomach dropped.

He looked back at Brienne, half incredulous, half furious. “What on _earth--_ ”

The Kingslayer reached them and bowed. He was as fair of face as all the stories said, but his whole demeanour dripped with arrogance. “Ser Jaime Lannister,” he announced with a breezy smile. “It is an honour to finally meet you, Lord Selwyn Tarth.”

Selwyn recovered his composure. “And you, Ser Jaime,” he replied through gritted teeth. “You must forgive me. Brienne did not tell me you would be accompanying her.”

The Kingslayer waved his golden hand dismissively. “I only wanted to escort your daughter home, my lord. I will only intrude on your hospitality for one night, if it please you.”

Brienne prevented Selwyn from questioning him further by saying quickly, “And this is Podrick Payne.” She took the small boy’s hand and drew him forward. He was about ten years of age, pale and skinny, brown hair falling into large, anxious brown eyes.

“My lord,” the boy mumbled, looking at the ground.

“He is my squire,” Brienne told Selwyn.

Selwyn took a deep breath. “Your squire.”

Brienne fidgeted. “Yes.”

Selwyn forced a smile, looking first at Brienne and then at the smirking Kingslayer and nervous squire that stood behind her. “Well, it seems we shall have much to discuss, my child. Come, let us away to the castle.”

Immediately after finding rooms for Podrick and the Kingslayer, Selwyn bid Brienne come to his solar. “Father,” she said nervously as soon as he had closed the door behind them. “I know what you must be thinking--"

“I am not sure even I know what I am thinking, Brienne.” Selwyn sat down behind his desk, drumming his fingers against its marble top. Brienne remained standing, hands behind her back, like a child awaiting punishment. “I have heard next to nothing from you for the last four years, and then suddenly you arrive with the Kingslayer. What am I supposed to think? Are the rumours true?”

Brienne looked stricken. “What rumours?”

“If Lord Eldon is to believed, the whole of the Riverlands are calling you the Kingslayer’s whore.”

Brienne let out a shaky breath. “I have been called that, it is true. Though I did not think it would have spread so far.”

This was not an encouraging response. “What is the truth, my child? Are you still the honourable little girl I sent to Storm’s End?”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know, Father.”

His stomach twisted. “What have you done?” he asked quietly.

“I have killed,” said Brienne. The tears streamed down her face, wetting the bandage on her cheek. “Evil men, but still, I killed them. I killed my liege lady, the lady I swore to protect. Ser Jaime and Podrick and Ser Hyle almost died because of me. I failed Lord Renly and Lady Catelyn and Ser Jaime and I am sure to fail Lady Sansa too.” Her voice cracked. “I wish I’d never left you, Father. I was a fool to ever think I could be a knight.”

Selwyn stared at his weeping daughter. _She has aged twenty years since I saw her last_ , he thought.

“Sit down,” he said at last, feeling shaken. “Tell me everything.”

And she did, in fits and starts, her voice wavering. The bet on her maidenhead. The melée at Bitterbridge. Renly’s death. Catelyn. Jaime. The Bloody Mummers. Jaime. Harrenhal. Jaime. King’s Landing. Jaime Jaime Jaime. Oathkeeper. Jaime sending her to find Sansa. Podrick. Ser Hyle. Shagwell and Timeon and Pyg. The Quiet Isle. Biter. Stoneheart. Finding Jaime at Pennytree. Luring him away. Jaime baring his neck for her blade, only for her to kill Stoneheart instead.

Selwyn listened in forced silence, his fist clenching and unclenching beneath the desk as she spoke. Outside, the sun went down and the sky turned from orange to dark blue to purple.

When Brienne finally finished, Selwyn stood up. “Fetch me Ser Jaime,” he said in a voice of controlled calm.

Brienne stood too. “Father, please, it’s not his fault,” she said desperately. Her voice was hoarse from talking; he had never heard his quiet girl speak so much at once. “He is a good man, he saved me.”

“Saved you from the bear, yes, and from the Bloody Mummers. I will admit he did well with that lie about the sapphires. But did he save you from Biter? Or from Stoneheart’s noose?” His voice shook with rage. “He had no right to send you on that farce of a quest.”

“He did not know what would happen. And he gave me Oathkeeper to protect me.” Brienne’s hand closed on the hilt of the blade at her waist. “My magic sword,” she added, more quietly, almost to herself.

 _Magic sword. Gods save her, she thinks this is a tale. Everything that’s happened to her, and she still believes in tales._ He felt a sudden wave of overwhelming sadness for his daughter, his sweet romantic child. He stepped forward, gripped her shoulders.

“Brienne,” he said gently. “This is not a tale. And you are not a knight. You do not have a squire, and that sword is not magic. You have been brave, and I am proud of you, but it’s time for this to end. I have arranged another betrothal for you, to Lord Sebastion Errol of Haystack Hall. He is coming in a few days to meet you. If the gods are good, he will marry you, and you will be safe and happy for the rest of your days.”

Brienne flinched as though he had slapped her, the colour draining from her face. “But you promised,” she whispered. “No more betrothals.”

He fought down the guilt he felt. “I promised no such thing, my child. I agreed to your condition that you would not marry any man who could not outfight you, which I never should have done. You are my only heir, Brienne. If you die without issue, the Tarth line dies with you. Our family has ruled this island since the time of the First Men. Is that what you want? For our house to die out?”

Brienne looked down. “No, Father, but…”

“But what? You will meet this man and if he will have you, you will marry him. This is your duty. You said you wanted to make me proud. This is how.”

Brienne raised her head. Once again, her eyes glimmered with tears, like the sea under moonlight. _They are as blue as her mother’s,_ he thought with a pang. Wordlessly, she nodded.

Relieved yet pained at the same time, he nodded back, and squeezed her arm. Fighting the urge to apologise, he watched her leave the room.


	2. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My lord, you may think me mad, but Brienne was made to be a knight. It has naught to do with me. She wants to keep her oath to Lady Catelyn, and so do I. If you would give her leave to go back to seeking Sansa, I could accompany her and keep her safe—"
> 
> Selwyn’s eyes flashed. “Enough, Kingslayer. I will not have you sit before me and tell me what I should or shouldn’t let my daughter do. You have endangered her enough already.”
> 
> He fought to contain his anger. “And I will endanger her no more. I have made mistakes, but I know better now. Your daughter is precious to me, Lord Selwyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely comments and encouragement on the first chapter, I wasn't sure how it was going to go down so that was really nice and definitely motivated me to continue! Here is the Jaime POV as promised, I've never actually written in his POV before so that was fun. Hopefully it's not terrible. Enjoy!

“I don’t think your father likes me much, my lady,” Jaime said to Brienne when he found her in the darkening training yard.

She turned, startled. She had been sparring with Pod, and her hair was falling from its braid, a few strands hanging endearingly in her eyes. She brushed it away and turned back to Pod, signalling with a nod that he could go. The boy ran off, his wooden training sword dangling from his hand.

“No,” she said finally, turning back to Jaime. “He doesn’t. I am sorry for his discourteousness.” Her hand went unconsciously to her still-bandaged cheek. “He worries for me.”

“Of course he does,” said Jaime more gently. “He is right to. I am surprised he did not cut me down the moment he saw me.”

“I tried to explain,” said Brienne. She looked miserable. “I told him all you did for me, but he would not listen.” She met his eyes. “He has arranged another betrothal for me, Jaime. That’s why he called me home.”

Something wrenched at Jaime’s heart. “A betrothal?” he repeated stupidly, as though he did not understand the word.

Brienne nodded. “Lord Sebastion Errol. He has not agreed yet, but he is coming here soon to meet me.”

“Errol? Haystack Hall? Is the Lady Shyra dead, then?”

“She must be.”

“I have seen him, I think,” said Jaime. “Years ago, when Robert hosted the Errols at King’s Landing. He was only a boy. Pale and snivelly. Always clinging to his mother.”

Brienne sighed. “That is not encouraging.”

“Sorry. That was a long time ago. Perhaps he has grown into a strong and handsome young man.” He paused. “I doubt it. But perhaps.”

Brienne stared miserably into the distance. “I agreed to marry him, if he will have me. It is my duty to Tarth. But now I will never be able to find Lady Sansa.”

He laid his hand on her arm. “Then I will.”

She looked at him, eyes big and blue and full of anguish. “You can’t, Jaime. You have to go back to King’s Landing.”

He sighed. She was right, he knew. A sudden recklessness seized him, and he tightened his grip on her arm. “Brienne, you don’t have to marry him. We could leave in the night, sail back to the Riverlands—”

Brienne looked horrified. She shook off his hand. “Are you mad, Jaime? What would my father do?”

 _Fuck your father,_ he wanted to say, but he knew it was unfair. Selwyn had every right to be concerned for Brienne, to want her safe at home. To keep her away from Jaime.

That was what this was, he realised suddenly. Keeping her away from him. Unwelcome voices echoed in his mind. _Kingslayer’s whore_.

He looked at Brienne, her hand on her sword hilt, hair silvered by the moonlight. She looked more like a knight than he had ever seen her. His heart ached. Could he really have corrupted something so pure?

“What about you, my lady?” he asked. “What do you want?”

She looked away. “I want to finish the quest, you know I do.”

“Would you come away with me if you could?” he asked, hating himself for asking yet longing for the answer.

She blushed. He had become over-fond of Brienne’s blushes as of late; he found himself thinking about them far too much, at completely inappropriate times, such as late at night in bed when he could not sleep. Thinking about all the things he could do to induce that blush. “Yes,” she said, so quietly he barely heard it, and for one mad second he considered kissing her, but then she said, “But I can’t. You know I can’t.”

He nodded, resigned. A long silence stretched between them. Then Jaime said, “I think I will ask your father to let me stay a while longer.”

Brienne frowned. “Why?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his expression impassive. He could not leave her now. The thought of her trembling in her maiden’s cloak while a septon joined her hands with some stranger’s made him feel sick. He would have killed Robert if he had hurt Cersei; he would do the same for Brienne if he had to. “I would like to meet your betrothed,” he said lightly. “Perhaps I’ll even stay for the wedding.”

“That may not be for weeks. If there even is one.”

“That makes no matter. You know I am not eager to return to King’s Landing. Only the gods know what awaits me there. For all I know I’ll have my head taken off as soon as I get through the city gates.”

“You are Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Brienne reminded him, and he heard the gentle reproach in her voice. ”You have duties.”

“Yes, I know.” It was Cersei he wanted to avoid, and they both knew it. He steered the conversation into safer waters. “I don’t want to leave you, wench, if I’m being honest. I would miss your scowl too much. Besides, perhaps my presence will scare Lord Errol away.”

That got a smile out of her, albeit a small one. “I don’t know if my father will even let you stay.”

“I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, as you so eloquently put it. Surely it would be rude of him to turn me away.”

Brienne sighed. “I don’t know if he even recognises Tommen as king. He declared for Renly when Robert died. Perhaps he is loyal to Stannis now.”

“If he were loyal to Stannis he would have gone north, or at least sent his men. Your father is a wiser man than that. I think I am safe enough.”

Brienne still looked uncertain. She bit her lip. Had any woman ever had such kissable-looking lips? Jaime felt his gaze being drawn to it against his will, and found himself imagining what it would be like to bite that lip himself. _It truly is pathetic how you pine for this girl,_ he told himself. _How Tyrion would laugh if he knew._

“Do you want me to stay, my lady?” he asked, dragging his eyes back up to hers.

Brienne blushed again. _She is killing me._ “Yes,” she admitted. “I’d like it if you stayed.” Then, ever his dutiful Brienne, she added quickly, “Although you _know_ I think you should be in King’s Landing—”

“Very well,” he interrupted, trying not to show how absurdly happy he felt to hear it. _Yes, Tyrion really would piss himself._ “Let me go and find your father.”

“Bring your sword,” said Brienne, only half joking.

“Why?” was Lord Selwyn’s only response to Jaime’s request.

There were not many men that intimidated Jaime, but something about Selwyn made him feel like a sixteen year-old squire again. His eyes were blue like Brienne’s, but not the same blue – they were paler, colder, and narrowed with disdain. He was also a giant, which did not help either; he was taller than Jaime, taller even than Brienne, and broader too. Something about his refusal to even attempt to conceal his dislike reminded Jaime of the Blackfish.

Jaime considered his answer carefully before he spoke. “Strange as it may seem to you, my lord, your daughter has become a friend to me. She kept me alive on our journey from the Riverlands to King’s Landing. I owe her a great deal, and it would please me to there for her wedding.”

“A friend,” Selwyn repeated in a voice as chilly as a northern winter wind. “Do you often make friends with twenty year-old maidens, ser? And do you often send those friends off into war-torn lands to get themselves mauled and hanged while trying to restore your honour?”

Jaime took a deep breath. It would not be wise to get angry now. “Sending Brienne on that quest was foolish, I admit. I regret it every day. If I had had even the slightest notion of what would befall her… If I could have taken that bite for her, or worn that noose…” He trailed off, throat tightening.

“You should have,” said Selwyn viciously. “Sending other people to right your wrongs is not the way to restore your honour, ser. Even today, after everything she’s done for you, Brienne was still crying to me about how she failed you. Imagine. The mark of a noose around her neck, and still she thinks she failed you.”

His words hit Jaime like a blow from a sword. “My honour?” he said weakly. “But the quest was not about that. It was about our oath to Lady Catelyn.” But even as he said it, he remembered the words he had used. _Sansa Stark is my last chance for honour_. But he had not meant…

“It seems to me that for Brienne, it stopped being about Lady Catelyn long ago,” said Selwyn. “I have seen her like this before, Kingslayer. With Renly. A few kind words and she was ready to die for him. Then you come along and save her from a bear, and it’s the same thing all over again. She may fight like a hardened warrior, but she is a young girl, and naïve. She still believes in songs and heroes, and one day that will get her killed.”

There was a long silence. Jaime felt as though he had been doused in ice water. Selwyn was right, he knew. He had known it before, in truth, but seemingly it had taken a livid father throwing it in his face to truly understand what he had done. Now he felt faintly sickened with himself.

And yet, he could not help but wonder what Selwyn had implied by comparing him to Renly. _Is he saying she loves me?_

“You have the right of it,” he made himself say, finally. His voice was rough. “I have been reckless. But I am not Renly. I do not want Brienne to die for me. I have never wanted that. I would die myself before I let that happen.” He realised how true it was even as he said it. “All I want is to protect her.”

Selwyn’s narrowed eyes travelled over Jaime’s face, as if searching for something. Finally, he said, “Then surely you understand why I want her married.”

Desperate, Jaime made one last attempt. “My lord, you may think me mad, but Brienne was made to be a knight. It has naught to do with me. She wants to keep her oath to Lady Catelyn, and so do I. If you would give her leave to go back to seeking Sansa, I could accompany her and keep her safe—"

Selwyn’s eyes flashed. “ _Enough_ , Kingslayer. I will not have you sit before me and tell me what I should or shouldn’t let my daughter do. You have endangered her enough already.”

He fought to contain his anger. “And I will endanger her no more. I have made mistakes, but I know better now. Your daughter is precious to me, Lord Selwyn.”

That seemed to catch Selwyn off guard. He frowned. Then he shook his head, his cold expression returning. “Stay for the wedding, if you wish; and if you truly do care about Brienne’s safety as much as you claim, you will _pray_ that there is a wedding. But speak no more to me of knights and oaths. Those kind of delusions will only bring her pain.”

“My lord—”

“I am finished speaking with you, Kingslayer. Accept the invitation or don’t. It makes no difference to me.”

Jaime rose, defeated, and gave Selwyn a stiff bow. “I will accept it, with thanks. But I think you are mistaken as to what will truly cause your daughter pain.”

He left before Selwyn could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised after I wrote this that I forgot Hyle's existence in this fic and never mentioned what happened to him after Stoneheart, so I've decided that he realised he had no chance with Brienne so he left them and is now living his best life as a hedge knight. Or if anyone has read my other fic 'a rope in hand for your other man' - basically that whole scenario. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading! Next chapter is a Brienne POV!


	3. Selwyn II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He is not what you think,” she said at last. “I hated him too, at first. I knew his reputation. But now I know different. He is brave; he fears nothing, not even death. And he is honourable, even though the realm thinks otherwise. He has done bad things, I know, but not without reason. He is flawed, but he has a good heart. I truly believe that, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said this was going to be a Brienne chapter but then I decided it needed another Selwyn one first, sorry! Although when you think about it, putting a Selwyn chapter between a Jaime chapter and a Brienne chapter is actually symbolic of him keeping them apart. Very poetic when you look at it that way. I totally did that on purpose.

Selwyn kept a close eye on Brienne and the Kingslayer in the days that followed while they waited for Lord Sebastion to arrive. When Brienne told him that she was going to take their two guests around the island, he asked Jem the stableboy to follow them at a distance and report back, though it left a bad taste in his mouth to do so. _I trust Brienne,_ he told himself in an attempt to ease his guilt. _It’s him I don’t trust. I have to keep her safe._

However, Jem had nothing of interest to report when he returned. “I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, m’lord,” he said. “But they didn’t do naught that they shouldn’t have. They went to the beach and the cliffs and into the village. The little lad was with them the whole time.”

Still, Brienne’s feelings for the Kingslayer were obvious. She looked at him the same way she had once looked at Renly; the same wide, adoring eyes. Selwyn caught her gazing longingly at him on several occasions during meals, only to look away immediately the second he looked back at her. For his part, the Kingslayer’s haughty demeanour softened when he was around Brienne, though that did little to assuage Selwyn’s suspicions. Renly had been kind to Brienne too, but only outwardly.

Clearly, Brienne had forgotten all Selwyn had told her when she was a child. He half wanted to take her aside and remind her. _Do you remember what I told you about this man? Do you remember how appalled you were?_ And that was even before the realm knew about his unnatural relationship with his sister. Surely Brienne could not condone that?

 _He did save her, though,_ said a little voice at the back of his head. _Twice. And he gave her a priceless sword of Valyrian steel._

But why? Perhaps there was more to this story than just an oath to Lady Stark. Perhaps the Kingslayer’s intention was to gain Brienne’s loyalty so he could use her for some kind of Lannister plot, though what exactly he had no idea.

“What is it you like about him?” he asked Brienne one evening as they sat by the fire, mercifully alone.

Brienne instantly blushed, which was not a good sign. “He saved me –”

“Yes, I know,” said Selwyn impatiently. “But apart from that.”

She took a long time to answer. “He is not what you think,” she said at last. “I hated him too, at first. I knew his reputation. But now I know different. He is brave; he fears nothing, not even death. And he is honourable, even though the realm thinks otherwise. He has done bad things, I know, but not without reason. He is flawed, but he has a good heart. I truly believe that, Father.”

“Not without reason,” Selwyn repeated dubiously. “What does that mean? Did he kill Aerys for a reason?”

Brienne stared into the flames. “Aerys was evil,” she said.

A feeling of foreboding crept up Selwyn’s spine. “He was not evil. He was old and mad.”

“He burned people alive. Jaime killed him because…” She trailed off. “That is not my story to tell. But it was the right thing to do.”

Selwyn stared at her. _Am I truly having this argument with my daughter?_ “ _Jaime_ was a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the king with his life. He profaned his white cloak –- broke the most sacred oath in the realm, as if it meant nothing—"

“If he told you what he told me,” Brienne said quietly, “you would understand.”

“The gods only know what nonsense he filled your head with,” Selwyn snapped, angry now. “You should know better than to believe the lies of a false knight with shit for honour—”

Brienne stood up so suddenly it startled him. “You don’t _know_ him!” she said angrily. 

For a moment they stared at each other. There was no sound but the crackling of the fire. Selwyn looked at his daughter, her face alive with fury in the firelight, and did not recognise her.

“You’ve changed,” he said at last.

The anger slowly faded from Brienne’s face. “I am sorry,” she said, more quietly. “I should not have snapped at you. But you don’t understand.”

He sighed heavily. “No, my child, I don’t.”

Looking regretful, she kissed his cheek. “I am going to bed.”

He stayed long after she had left the room, staring into the fire until it turned to embers.

The next morning he watched them sparring, standing in the battlements above the training yard where they could not see him. It was Brienne against Podrick, while the Kingslayer watched from the side, seated on an upturned barrel. The boy was useless, but it was clear he tried hard. Brienne was encouraging, congratulating him profusely every time he managed a semi-decent parry. _At least she is still as kind as I remember._

“Perhaps Ser Jaime will spar with you now,” she said when they finished. It was clear from her pointed tone as she looked at the Kingslayer that this was a conversation they had regularly. Podrick looked nervous.

“Not today,” the Kingslayer said lazily.

“Why not?” said Brienne, folding her arms. “I’m sure Pod has always dreamed of sparring with the great Jaime Lannister. Haven’t you, Pod?”

Pod did not look as if he had.

“Perhaps when the great Jaime Lannister still had both his hands,” said the Kingslayer. “At present I am not sure if I could even give him a contest.”

Brienne took on the tone of a lecturing septon. “If you refuse to even fight Podrick, how are you ever going to improve?”

Surely, thought Selwyn, it was not wise to criticise the Kingslayer’s swordfighting abilities to his face. He half-expected Jaime to snap at her, but instead he just looked faintly amused. “I have been training, Brienne, don’t worry. I’m simply waiting for the right moment to reveal my new skills to the world.”

“The world?” Brienne looked exasperated. “You mean Pod and I? We saw you fight against Stoneheart’s men.”

Jaime stretched like a lazy cat. “That was different. Have patience, wench. You’ll see eventually.”

 _Wench?_ Selwyn felt a spike of irritation. _Your daughter is precious to me,_ the Kingslayer had told him the day before. Was that supposed to be a term of endearment?

If she was offended, however, Brienne did not show it. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she gave her sword to Podrick and told him to leave it in the armoury along with his own. The boy scurried off.

“He can’t fight,” said the Kingslayer the moment Pod was gone.

“He is improving every day,” said Brienne. Selwyn saw the way her shoulders slouched, the usual tension leaving them. _She is comfortable around him_ , he noticed with a start. There were few people he could say that about; almost nobody, in fact. “He trains hard.”

“There’s no substitute for natural ability.”

Brienne rolled her eyes again. “Not everyone can be the greatest swordsman in the realm from the moment they first hold a blade. Some of us have to work at it.”

“Believe me, I’ve learned that. But some people just aren’t meant to be knights.”

Brienne glared at him. “It’s about more than just fighting, Jaime. It’s about honour and chivalry and Pod has all of that. I think he’d make a wonderful knight.”

“Good knights are rare.” Jaime stretched his legs out in front of him. “Perhaps Pod could be one if his swordsmanship ever improves, I’ll not discount the possibility. He’s young yet. But there are few true knights.” He gave Brienne a meaningful look. “That’s why it’s important not to waste them, when they are found.”

Brienne blushed and looked away. “We have discussed this, Jaime. There is nothing to be done.”

He sighed. “Do you think he’ll still let you fight, at least?”

“I have no idea. If he’s anything like my last betrothed, then no.”

“You shall have to sneak out at night to train. I will not have you forgetting all I’ve taught you.”

Brienne frowned. “You’ve taught me nothing, Jaime.”

“You learned more from our one fight than you did in all your years of training, wench, do not deny it.” His tone changed from teasing to wistful. “I wish we had fought more, when I still had my hand. I am no match for you now.”

“I wish it too,” said Brienne softly. “I will have no one to train with when I am married.”

“Perhaps you could keep Pod with you. And I’ll come and visit you, of course.”

Selwyn strongly misliked the flash of longing that came over Brienne’s features then. “Would you?” she asked.

“If I survive my return to King’s Landing, then yes. I’d like to show you the Rock as well. Though I suppose your husband would have to come too.”

“I doubt he’ll allow that.” Brienne fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve, her expression turning sad. “Will you write to me, though?”

The Kingslayer’s expression softened. “I am no great letter writer, but for you I am sure I can manage a few lines.”

Brienne gave him a small smile, only lasting a moment before misery overcame her features once more.

The Kingslayer sighed. “It may not be so bad, Brienne. You haven’t even met the boy yet. And your father would not wed you to a monster. He and I may not agree, but he loves you very much, I can tell.”

This, Selwyn had not expected. He felt another sudden wave of guilt come over him. It was a feeling he’d been having far too often recently. He tried to steel himself against it.

“What did he say to you?” Brienne asked. “When he spoke to you in his solar?”

The Kingslayer hesitated. “Many things,” he said at last. “He said you felt that you had failed me.”

Brienne looked down. “I did. I betrayed you.”

“You almost hanged for me. Look at me, Brienne.” Jaime took her hand, a worryingly intimate gesture, and Brienne stared down at their joined hands before reluctantly meeting his eyes again. “There was nothing more you could have done. Do you understand?”

Brienne looked away again. “If you say so.”

“And you should never have concerned yourself with restoring my honour. That is mine to restore, not yours.” He gave her a smile. “I would never think to saddle you with such an impossible task.”

She smiled back, albeit tentatively. “Not impossible. You have honour, Jaime, you’ve always had it.”

Instead of responding, Jaime kissed her hand, making her blush to the roots of her hair.

“I asked your father if he would allow you to continue the quest if I were to accompany you, but he refused,” he said. “He only wants your safety, Brienne, and on that I cannot disagree with him.”

“My safety,” Brienne said quietly, “but not my happiness.”

There was a long silence. Selwyn’s guilt pressed down heavy on his chest.

“No,” Jaime agreed at last. “Not your happiness.”

Unwilling to hear any more, Selwyn turned and strode away.

 _She does not know Sebastion yet,_ he told himself stubbornly as he made his way back to his solar. _Of course she could be happy with him. She will have a peaceful life and babes to look after. She will forget her oath and her delusions of knighthood. She will be happy._

He reached his solar and poured himself a generous cup of wine. _And if not,_ he thought as he raised it to his lips, _I would still prefer her unhappy than dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly sure 'battlements' wasn't the word I meant there but I have no idea what those things are actually called. They're lower down than battlements and Sansa used to stand on them a lot at Winterfell during the last few seasons of GOT. If anyone knows what they actually are called please enlighten me. (I should not be allowed write canon fic.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be Brienne and I promise the drama will be starting then!


	4. Brienne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panicking, she grabbed Jaime’s hand and pulled him through the first door she saw, which turned out to be the door to a servants’ cupboard. When she closed the door behind them, they found themselves in darkness. What felt like a broom dug uncomfortably into her back.
> 
> “Brienne!” said Jaime’s disembodied voice in admonishment. In the tiny space, he was pressed so close to her she could feel his breath on her face when he spoke. He was very warm. “You made me spill my wine.”

Lord Sebastion arrived after three days.

He was not quite as bad as Brienne had been expecting. He was pale and scrawny, almost half her size, but he had quite a nice face and a good head of thick dark hair. He was young, though, eighteen or nineteen; _a boy_ , Brienne thought, then wondered at herself. _What’s wrong with a boy? Am I not still a girl? He is closer to my age than…_ She cut that thought off before she could finish it.

When he first saw her, Sebastion looked at Brienne with the same mix of shock and disgust that Red Ronnet had shown on their first meeting, although unlike Ronnet he had the good grace to hide it quickly. She was almost pathetically grateful when he handed her the flowers (not roses, thankfully, Selwyn must have warned him against that) he had brought for her instead of throwing them at her feet.

“Lady Brienne,” he said. “You are just as… tall as your father described.”

“Thank you,” said Brienne, for lack of anything else to say. She could feel a blush creeping up her neck. She hated when she blushed. _I must look even uglier now._

There was a painful silence. Then Sebastion took a deep breath and said, “Your island is beautiful. I had not seen it before.” _At least he is trying._

“Thank you, my lord,” said Brienne. Desperately, she cast around for something else to say, and found herself blurting out, “It is called the Sapphire Isle for the blue of its waters.” _What made me say that?_

“Indeed,” said Sebastion, nodding. “They certainly are very blue.” Another silence. She wanted to die.

Her father came to their rescue, clapping a hand on Sebastion’s shoulder. “Let us show you around the castle,” he said jovially. “I hope you will find it comfortable.”

She trailed miserably after them as they went from room to room, forcing herself to make a comment every so often so that he would not think she had gone mute. Eventually, they found themselves out in the training yard.

Her heart skipped when she saw Jaime there, sparring with Pod. He was laughing, the sun catching in his golden hair, his white cloak whirling behind him. Even without his right hand he looked a knight from a song. She thought that she had never seen him look so handsome. It made her want to look at him forever. It made her want to never look at him again.

Her chest ached.

“Is that the Kingslayer?” Sebastion blurted, shocked.

Jaime noticed them, and lowered his wooden sword. Pod scurried away, embarrassed.

“It is indeed,” said Jaime with a cold smile. “You must be Lord Errol. An honour.”

Still confused, Sebastion turned to Selwyn.

“Ser Jaime is our guest at the moment,” said Selwyn with a forced smile. “He is…” He glanced at Jaime. “…a friend of Brienne’s.”

“Of course,” said Sebastion awkwardly, trying to recover. “I had heard of your… friendship.”

“Oh, don’t believe everything you hear in the songs,” said Jaime, stepping closer to Sebastion as though to appraise him. Sebastion seemed to shrink before him; he looked more a boy than ever. “The only true thing in them is the bear.”

Sebastion looked as though as he had more questions, but Selwyn quickly declared that they should show him Tarth’s most beautiful beach, and led them away. Brienne could feel Jaime’s eyes on her back as they walked away.

That evening there was a feast in honour of Sebastion. There were seven courses, the tables laden with fish and shrimp and crab all caught that morning, and jugs of mead and spiced wine. Her father had a new singer, a beautiful Dornish woman with a velvety voice, and through the large west-facing windows there was a magnificent view of the sun setting on the sea, the water blazing red. Even if Sebastion was not impressed by her, Brienne thought, he surely could not fail to be impressed by this.

What certainly did seem to impress him were Brienne’s three cousins, Shaya, Nella and Lia, the triplet daughters of her father’s cousin Hubert. They were slightly younger than Brienne and far prettier, and Brienne noticed Sebastion’s gaze drifting towards them several times throughout the first course. Though it was not unexpected, it still embarrassed her.

“Do you like to ride, my lord?” she asked over her plate of monkfish in a valiant attempt to reclaim his attention.

Sebastion dragged his gaze back to her with obvious reluctance. “Not particularly.”

“How about fighting?”

“No.”

“Swimming?”

Sebastion began to shake his head again, but then, seeming to take himself by surprise as well as Brienne, he said, “Actually, I _did_ like to swim as a child.”

Brienne seized on this tiny glimmer of positivity like a dog grabbing a bone. “Did you? In the sea? Is Haystack Hall near the coast, then?”

Sebastion nodded. “About an hour’s ride. My father used to take me.” He smiled. “He was the one who taught me to swim. I take it you swim well, my lady?”

Brienne smiled back, excited that they were finally having a real conversation, and that Sebastion actually seemed interested in it. _Perhaps we will have this in common. Perhaps we will grow to like each other._ “Well enough, my lord. My father taught me, too. I used to swim every day as a child, with my brother Galladon. He—”

She broke off, seeing with a sinking heart that he was no longer listening. His eyes had strayed back to her cousins again. Noticing her sudden silence, he looked back at her. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said with empty courtesy. “What were you saying?”

She gave up. “It matters not, my lord.”

His gaze went back to her cousins, and Brienne’s went back to her plate. At the other end of the table, Jaime shot her a sympathetic glance when Selwyn, seated beside him, was not looking.

Defeated, Brienne turned her attention to Pod, who had been allowed by Selwyn to join them at the main table. “How was your sparring with Ser Jaime?” she asked him.

Pod went red. “Not bad, ser. My lady.”

“I am glad he consented to spar with you at last, though I wish he had done it sooner. You should get used to sparring with people other than me. Was he good?”

Pod nodded. “Very good, ser. My lady. I was nervous to fight him, but he said that I’ve gotten better.” He gave Brienne a shy smile, proud and embarrassed at once. “He said with a bit more practice I could be a great knight.”

Brienne smiled back at him, touched and surprised at this apparent change of heart in Jaime. “He’s quite right, Pod.”

Pod ducked his head, embarrassed again. Brienne gazed fondly at his mop of chestnut hair as he bent over his plate, then looked back at the seat opposite her, only to find it empty. Sebastion was gone.

Frowning, she turned back to Pod. “Podrick, did you see where --?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Jaime. “He left with one of your cousins,” he said.

Brienne sagged. Jaime gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Since he did it,” he said, leaning in closer, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t abscond as well.”

Her heartbeat quickened. She looked over at Selwyn, but he was deep in conversation with one of Sebastion’s household knights. “Very well,” she said. It would be better than suffering the embarrassment of sitting opposite Sebastion’s empty seat, she told herself. Then she remembered Pod, and felt guilty. “Are you coming, Pod?” she asked him.

Pod looked from Jaime to Brienne and back again, then shook his head slowly. “I am fine here, ser. My lady.”

That was unlike her shy Pod, but before she had a chance to even feel surprised Jaime had taken her arm and was all but pulling her towards the door. He had a wineskin and two cups under his other arm. “Where are we going?” she asked him, nervously looking around to see if anyone was watching them.

“I have no idea,” said Jaime, releasing her arm to hand her the two cups. “It’s your castle, not mine. Hold these while I pour the wine, will you?”

He poured the two cups and tucked the wineskin back under his arm. Brienne handed him one cup and took a drink from the other. Feeling somewhat exposed out in the entrance hall, where she would surely look odd standing drinking with the Kingslayer, she moved into a passage and he followed.

“So,” said Jaime. “What do you think of him?”

Brienne sighed. “He is not the worst suitor I have had.”

“That’s not saying much.”

She took another drink. “No, it’s not.”

Suddenly they heard footsteps coming down the adjoining corridor, and a high-pitched giggle. Brienne recognised her cousin Shaya’s voice. Panicking, she grabbed Jaime’s hand and pulled him through the first door she saw, which turned out to be the door to a servants’ cupboard. When she closed the door behind them, they found themselves in darkness. What felt like a broom dug uncomfortably into her back.

“Brienne!” said Jaime’s disembodied voice in admonishment. In the tiny space, he was pressed so close to her she could feel his breath on her face when he spoke. He was very warm. “You made me spill my wine.”

“Ssh!”

The footsteps grew closer. “So you don’t want her?” Shaya was saying, laughing.

“Who could want her?” said Sebastion, and Brienne’s stomach dropped. “Not to insult you, my lady, I know you’re her cousin. Though I never saw two maids less alike.”

Shaya giggled again. “Marry me instead, then.”

“Would that I could,” said Sebastion, laughing. “I would do well to inherit Tarth, though. Evenfall is twice the size of Haystack Hall. And I could always have mistresses.”

Shaya took on a tone of mock offence. “I will not be your mistress, my lord.”

Their voices were growing distant now as they got further away, but Brienne still heard Sebastion say in a tone of mock gallantry, “Of course not, my lady. But I am not married yet,” and the noisy kiss that followed before all went silent again.

Brienne was glad that the darkness concealed her burning face. _Can I really do this?_ she thought miserably. _Can I really lower myself to marry this boy, knowing what he thinks of me?_

The worst part was that there was not even anything especially objectionable about Sebastion. He was not ancient or hideous or rude or cruel. Had he even the slightest interest in her, he probably would have made a perfectly decent husband. But he did not, and Brienne knew that if they were to marry, she would be painfully aware of it for the rest of her life.

“Cunt,” said Jaime.

She managed a half laugh. It was easier to be close to him in the dark, when she couldn’t see his beautiful face. It would be so easy to lean in just a tiny bit closer, to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shoulder like she so badly wanted to. He would hold her, she knew he would, even if it was just out of kindness; and then she would forget everything Sebastion had said, at least for a time. It would be even easier to lean in and kiss him, though she did not know if he would react so well to that, even in the dark where all maids looked the same.

Instead she pushed open the door and said, “Come on. I know where we can go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise Sebastion is a dickhead. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the love on this story so far! I'm so glad people are enjoying it! Next chapter is Brienne again!


	5. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if you could be a knight and still marry? Have children and a family and a man who loves you?”
> 
> She blinked at him, uncomprehending. Had he not been listening? “But I can’t.”
> 
> He paused, green eyes searing into her. “You could if you married me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be an angsty one, I'm not going to lie.

They finished off the rest of the wine on the way, and by the time they reached the east wing Brienne was feeling reckless and giggly. “Brienne of Tarth!” said Jaime in mock-scandalised tones when he realised where they were going. “This is highly improper.”

“Shut up,” she said as she led him into the room, silently thanking the gods that the corridor was free from observers. “I want to show you something.”

Lord Selwyn had not changed anything about Brienne’s bedchamber since she’d left, and it still looked much the same as it had when she was a child; the blue and pink canopy around her bed, the big window overlooking the sea, her childhood drawings of knights and princesses still adorning the walls. Jaime went over to look at them, smiling. It felt strange, seeing Jaime in her bedchamber. Light-headed from the wine, and from something else that she did not want to identify, Brienne floated to the bookshelves, scanning them for the book she wanted.

“Did your father tell you stories?” Jaime asked her, still looking at her drawings.

“Yes, all the time,” she said without turning. “Mostly about knights. Good knights.”

“What about bad ones? Did he tell you of me?”

Brienne hesitated. “You’re not bad.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Jaime came up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the books. He was very close; she felt his breath on her neck and shivered. “What did he tell you?”

The wine had made her far too reckless. Though she knew she would not do it, she felt increasingly tempted to just turn around and kiss him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the books and said, “That you slew the Mad King.”

“Were you shocked?”

Yes, eight year-old Brienne had been shocked, but she would likely have been far more shocked to know that at some point in the future the Kingslayer would be in her bedchamber with his lips very close to her neck. “I know better now,” she said, turning to look at him.

Turning was a mistake. The intensity with which he was looking at her made her want to melt into a puddle on the floor. Hastily, she turned back around and was relieved when she finally spotted the book she had been looking for. “Here it is!”

She sat on her bed and flipped through the pages, unable to keep from smiling at having it back in her hands again. It had been so long since she had last read it. Jaime sat beside her, his arm brushing hers.

She found the page and showed it to him. “Ser Galladon, the Perfect Knight. Do you know it?”

“I don’t think so. Read it to me.”

She did, shyly at first, feeling foolish for reading to him as though he were a child, but as the story progressed her enthusiasm grew. “…And so, as the magic of the Just Maid was so potent as to make any fight unfair, Ser Galladon carried it with him always but never unsheathed it against any mortal man,” she concluded.

When she looked up Jaime was looking at her so fondly that she had to look away, embarrassed. “So if you are Ser Galladon, does that make me the Maiden?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“Your father told me that you think of Oathkeeper as your magic sword.”

She blushed scarlet and looked back down at the book. “Oh. Well, I know it’s not really magic, of course, but it helps, sometimes, to think that it is. Though I had not thought of you as the Maiden.”

“The Maiden I am not,” Jaime agreed. “Though if anyone is the Perfect Knight, it’s you, Brienne.”

She closed the book and put it aside, her smile fading. “Surely you jest. I have failed everyone I’ve ever tried to serve.”

He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to look at him. “You have not failed anyone,” he said softly. “You did the realm a favour when you slew Lady Stoneheart. And we will find Sansa, Brienne, one way or another.”

She sighed. “Not if I marry Lord Sebastion.”

“Then don’t bloody marry him.”

“Jaime…”

“I mean it.” He took her hand and looked at her with imploring eyes. “You are the only true knight in the entire Seven Kingdoms, and I can say that with absolute certainty. You fought seven men by yourself, Brienne, to protect some children you barely knew. Do you know how many of the knights I know would have done that? Fucking none of them. I want you to be safe just as much as your father does, but this realm is a better place when you have a sword in your hand, and the thought of you shackled to that skinny little lackwit for the rest of your life and never being able to fight again…” He shook his head and gripped her hand tighter. “I cannot imagine a more tragic bloody waste.”

There was a lump in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Of course I don’t want… to never fight again. I don’t want that either, Jaime, you know I don’t. But I also…” She looked away so he could not see the tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want to be alone forever.”

His thumb stroked her hand. “Brienne,” he said, softer than she’d ever heard his voice before.

“I know it sounds pathetic,” she said, still looking at the wall, her voice choked. “I know no man will ever love me or want to marry me, not truly. But I do want a family. I want to be a mother. Sometimes – sometimes I think that if I could have babes, and watch them grow up, I wouldn’t mind if my husband didn’t love me.” She let the tears slip down her cheeks. “I think it would be all right.”

“Gods.” Jaime pulled her into his arms almost roughly, and she pressed her cheek against his chest. There was a crack in his voice, and for a moment she wondered if he was crying too. “Oh, Brienne. Who made you think like this?”

“That’s just how it is,” she mumbled against his tunic.

“It doesn’t have to be.” He pulled away slightly and wiped her tears with his hand. “What if you could have both?”

She frowned. “What?”

“What if you could be a knight and still marry? Have children and a family and a man who loves you?”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. Had he not been listening? “But I can’t.”

He paused, green eyes searing into her. “You could if you married me.”

For a moment it felt like all her breath had left her. Then her senses returned. “Are you mad, Jaime?” she asked weakly. “You are a knight of the –”

He sighed theatrically. “Of the Kingsguard, yes, I know. You and your father have reminded me enough times. But I’m useless without my hand anyway, and I’d rather have you than any white cloak.” He paused, and gave her a crooked smile. “That is, if you want me. I’m sorry, I wasn’t intending on asking you like this. I meant to at least kiss you first.”

She felt dazed. Her heart was hammering. “Yes,” was all she could say.

“Yes what?” He sounded amused. “Yes, you want me? Yes, you’ll marry me?”

“No. I mean, yes, kiss me.”

He laughed, cupped her tear-stained cheek and kissed her, long and deep. Her stomach flipped. He pulled back and kissed her nose, her forehead, her chin, while his golden hand moved to her side, holding her to him. “Did that help?” he asked.

She clung to his shoulders, breathless, and shook her head. “You have only confused me more.”

He laughed again, and gave her another kiss. “Let me speak to your father.”

Reality began to creep in, as hard as she tried to block it out and stay in this dream with Jaime. “He will never let me marry you,” she said, moving her hands from his shoulders and dropping them to her lap. “And he already has this betrothal arranged with Lord Sebastion, and… where would we even live?”

“Here,” he said impatiently, and kissed her again. “The Rock.” Another kiss. “A little cottage in the Riverlands.” Another kiss. “A cave. Who cares? We can live wherever we like.”

Even through the sweet haze of his kisses, the doubt crept in. He had not thought on it enough, she realised. He had probably not thought of it at all until this moment. That was Jaime; he acted first and thought later. “And what about your sister?”

Jaime’s eyes hardened. “What about her?”

His tone was too careless, too dismissive to be convincing. Whether he loved her or hated her, Brienne had never known Jaime to ever be dismissive where Cersei was concerned. _He is still angry with her_ , she thought with a sudden sinking feeling, _and if he is still angry that means he still cares._

Perhaps he even cared enough to convince himself he wanted to marry Brienne, when all he really wanted was to get back at Cersei. To make her jealous.

Suddenly, it made sense.

Her giddy joy evaporated like morning mist, and the lump in her throat returned. She drew away from him, forcing his hand to drop from her cheek, feeling cold at the loss. “You will change your mind about this, Jaime,” she said dully, looking down at her hands. “You love her, you will always love her. This is folly. You should go back to King’s Landing.”

Jaime’s eyes flashed. “Do not try to tell me how I feel,” he said sharply. “I loved her, yes, because I did not know her. I may as well have loved the Stranger. But I know you, Brienne, I know all of you, and every new thing I learn about you only makes me love you more. And you know me, too, better than Cersei ever did, better than anyone. You know me and you understand me and you love me. I know you do.” When she dared to meet his gaze again, she saw that his eyes were shining. “We belong to each other, Brienne, I am certain of that now. These past few days I have held my tongue, like a fool, letting some other man court you, but no longer. Let Lord Selwyn have my head if he may, but you and I should not be parted.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Please, my love, my Brienne. Don’t refuse me.”

She stared at him, wanting so badly to believe his words. But they did not make sense. This was how men spoke to ladies like Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark and Cersei. This was not how men spoke to Brienne, unless there was some joke involved, some bet. Especially not men like Jaime, beautiful golden Jaime who looked like he had just stepped out of one of her books of knightly valour. Every part of her shrank from it, rejected it. She remembered what Sebastion had said, only a few hours before. _Who could want her?_

She was Brienne the Beauty, a sow in silk, the ugliest girl alive.

Her eyes burned with tears. No, this was a mistake. Jaime had fooled himself somehow. His anger at Cersei had made him believe that he wanted her, the polar opposite of his golden twin, but he didn’t, not truly. She could not let him fool her too.

She shook her head. The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak, but she choked out the words. “I am sorry, Jaime. You should go.”

He stared at her for a moment, then let go of her hand, eyes darkening.

“Very well,” was all he said.

Part of her wanted him to stay, to argue, to convince her that she was wrong. That it was real, that she could have this after all. But he just stood up and swept out of the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

She curled up on her childhood bed and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! The melodrama!! I'm so sorry!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is Selwyn!


	6. Selwyn III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He would like you to give up fighting, Brienne.”
> 
> Brienne looked at him again, and something sparked in her eyes. “No,” she said.
> 
> He had known this would be difficult. “Brienne, we have spoken about this. You have had your adventure. I let you learn to fight, I let you go and serve Renly. But now it is time for you to marry, and married highborn ladies do not wear man’s mail or spar with swords.”
> 
> Brienne lifted her chin. “If he can set conditions, then surely I can too. I said once before that I would not accept chastisement from any man who could not outfight me. Let me fight Sebastion.”

The morning after the feast, Lord Selwyn called Sebastion to his solar. The boy seemed to be in a good mood, he noted with pleasure; he greeted Selwyn with a more genuine-looking smile than Selwyn had seen from him yet.

“My lord,” said Selwyn once they had exchanged pleasantries, “it is early yet, and I have no wish to pressure you to make a decision, but I would be interested to hear what your feelings are at present.”

The boy nodded. “As it happens, Lord Selwyn, I think I have all but decided. It would honour me greatly to take Brienne as my bride.”

Selwyn’s heart soared. _Gods, I thought this day would never come._ Trying to hide his surprise, he said, “That is wonderful news, Lord Sebastion. I am delighted to hear it.”

“I do have terms, of course,” Sebastion went on. “Only minor things, but we would have to agree on them.”

Selwyn nodded quickly. “Of course, of course.”

“Firstly,” said Sebastion, “I know that the Lady Brienne is fond of fighting, but I’m sure you’ll agree that will no longer be appropriate when we are married.”

Something tugged at Selwyn’s heart, but he knew he could not argue. “Yes, of course,” he said heavily.

Sebastion hesitated before continuing. “The same applies to her friendship with the Ki – Ser Jaime.”

Selwyn straightened. “Lord Sebastion, I hope you have not misunderstood. I know there have been rumours, but I swear to you that… _that_ truly is nothing more than a friendship. An odd one, I know, but nothing more. Brienne is no ordinary maiden, I will admit, but she is honest and virtuous. And she _is_ a maiden.”

“I believe you, my lord,” said Sebastion, though Selwyn was not sure if he did. “But I hope you will not be offended if I ask that she be… examined before the wedding, as I would ask of any potential bride.”

Selwyn hesitated. Admittedly, he was out of practice at these kinds of negotiations, but that was not a standard thing to ask, he was sure. But he swallowed his pride and nodded. “Of course.”

“And I would also ask,” Sebastion continued, “that Lady Brienne discontinues all communication with Ser Jaime after the wedding. Though I believe you when you say that there is nothing sordid between them, I would like all rumours regarding them to cease if she is to be my wife. I’m sure you understand.”

This, at least, Selwyn did not mind doing, though it seemed his daughter and the Kingslayer had fallen out already. The latter had not appeared at breakfast that morning, and Brienne had been puffy-eyed and quiet. He had considered investigating, then decided he would rather not know. As long as they were apart, he was happy.

He nodded. “Is that all, Lord Sebastion?”

“That’s all,” said Lord Sebastion. “I am glad we agree, my lord.”

He held out his hand, and Selwyn shook it, scarce able to believe that he had married Brienne off at last.

Brienne, as expected, was less happy.

He found her in the armoury, after a long search. She was perched on a stool, holding her thrice-damned “magic sword” across her lap and staring at it miserably. He had to admit, it was beautiful. The Valyrian steel rippled red and black, the point and edge so sharp that he imagined the barest brush would cut deep. The golden lion’s head pommel had been polished to a mirror shine, its ruby eyes glistening like drops of blood. Not for the first time, he wondered why Jaime Lannister had chosen to gift his daughter with such a sword.

“Lord Sebastion has agreed to marry you, Brienne,” he said.

She looked up. Her eyes looked huge and vulnerable, and for a moment he was reminded of the child she’d once been. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

“I think he will make a fine husband for you,” said Selwyn, ignoring the guilt he felt rising up again. “He is a good man. You should feel fortunate.”

Brienne looked away.

“He has set some conditions,” Selwyn continued. “He would like your maidenhead examined before the wedding, which I know is… undignified, but Maester Allen can do it quickly, or perhaps Septa Roelle if you would prefer. He also requires you to end all communication with Ser Jaime.”

“That should not be a problem,” said Brienne dully.

Again, he was tempted to ask, but decided to leave it. “He also…” He sighed. “He would like you to give up fighting, Brienne.”

Brienne looked at him again, and something sparked in her eyes. “No,” she said.

He had known this would be difficult. “Brienne, we have spoken about this. You have had your adventure. I let you learn to fight, I let you go and serve Renly. But now it is time for you to marry, and married highborn ladies do not wear man’s mail or spar with swords.”

Brienne lifted her chin. “If he can set conditions, then surely I can too. I said once before that I would not accept chastisement from any man who could not outfight me. Let me fight Sebastion.”

Frustration overrode any remaining guilt he felt. “In the name of the Seven, Brienne, why must you do this? You are being offered a blessing and you push it away. You should take what you are given; it is more than you deserve.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Brienne flinched as though he had slapped her.

“I did not mean that,” he said quickly. “I only meant…”

“I know what you meant,” said Brienne quietly. “And I am sure you are right. I have been a poor daughter to you since the moment I was born, and I am sorry. But please, Father, if you love me, let me have this.”

He knew he should refuse. But as he looked into her big blue eyes, suddenly all he could think of was the little girl who had sat on his knee so long ago, listening raptly to his tales of knightly valour. _If I refuse her now_ , he thought, _that little girl is lost to me forever._

“You have not been a poor daughter,” he said at last, putting a hand on her shoulder. “And I do love you, Brienne. Never doubt that.”

She blinked up at him. “Then you will let me do this?”

He sighed. “I must be mad. But yes. I will talk to Sebastion. And if he does not agree, then you will marry him regardless, do you understand?”

A small smile lit up Brienne’s face, like the sun breaking through clouds. In a rare gesture of spontaneous emotion, she hugged him. “Thank you, Father.”

He held her tight and pressed a kiss to her feathery hair, as pale and soft as it had been when she was a child. _No, I cannot lose her._

Defeated, he said, “I would not have you unhappy, Brienne.”

Much to his surprise, Sebastion agreed to the condition. “If I win,” he said, “she will agree to marry me and never wield a sword again?”

“She will.”

“And if I lose?”

“The marriage will still go ahead,” said Selwyn. “But you must allow Brienne to fight. As for your condition regarding the Kingslayer, she does not contest that.”

Sebastion nodded. “Then I will do it.” He smiled. “I am not much of a fighter, it’s true, but what kind of man would I be if I lost to a woman?”

Selwyn had the unhappy suspicion that he was greatly underestimating his opponent, but he said nothing.

They went out to the training yard for the fight. All of Sebastion’s retinue had gathered to watch, and Selwyn noticed many of the Tarth household peering out from the ramparts and the windows above. Brienne insisted that they would spar with steel, though after some persuasion from Selwyn she conceded that she would try not to “gravely” injure Sebastion, which did not provide much comfort.

Brienne’s magic sword looked magnificent as she drew it out into the sunlight, the steel almost blinding, the rubies blazing. For a moment Selwyn found himself wondering if it was indeed magic. Sebastion’s own blade was impressive too, with an beautiful silver hilt adorned with emeralds, but it was clear even from the way he held it that it had seen little use. This became even clearer when the fight began.

Sebastion came at Brienne first, clumsy and full of misplaced confidence. She blocked each strike almost effortlessly, then began to attack. Sebastion moved back, and back, swinging his sword wildly in a desperate attempt to keep Brienne’s blade at bay, but she was too fast, too strong, too relentless. She grazed him once, twice, three times; on the arm, on the leg, on the face, though his sword never touched her, never even came near her. She had always been good with a sword, but Selwyn was impressed by how much she had improved since he had last seen her fight. She fought like a seasoned knight now. He had to tamp down the feeling that it would be a shame to stop her.

Sebastion, on the other hand, fought like a child. They were almost comically mismatched. After only a few minutes, it became clear that he was tired already, his arm sagging, his swings growing even wilder, even clumsier. Finally, he tripped dodging a particularly lethal slash from Brienne, fell on the ground and dropped his sword. “Do you yield?” she asked calmly, the point of her blade hovering dangerously close to his neck.

Sebastion’s face twisted in fury. “Yes, I yield. This is a bloody mummer’s farce.”

Brienne drew back her sword, and Sebastion scrambled to his feet, dusty and furious. There was a trickle of blood running down his face from the cut she had given him just above his eyebrow.

“Lord Sebastion, I still consent to marry you,” said Brienne, sheathing her sword. “But now that I have beaten you, you must allow me to continue to fight and train when we are married. Do you still agree to those terms?”

A trail of blood dripped down the side of Sebastion’s nose. “No,” he spat.

Selwyn’s stomach lurched. “But my lord, you agreed—”

Sebastion shook his head. His face was puce. “I was not expecting her to be so… so…”

“Good?” Brienne suggested mildly.

Sebastion glared at her. “She fights like a bloody _man_. It’s – it’s unnatural! I cannot take a woman like that as my wife! To have her parading around in man’s mail for all the world to see, when I am not… when I can hardly… what would people think of _me_?”

“But you could have Evenfall,” said Selwyn desperately. “Tarth, our harbour, our marble mines—”

But Sebastion was still shaking his head. “To hell with your betrothal,” he snapped at Selwyn. “No island is worth this. Good luck finding someone else.”

Selwyn’s heart sank. _I came so close._ “Lord Sebastion,” he said with a crack in his voice. “I beg you, reconsider –”

But Sebastion was already turning and striding away with his retinue scurrying behind him. Brienne watched him go without a hint of regret on her face.

“Fine,” said Selwyn bitterly, turning away from the retreating Sebastion. “Fine. It seems there will be no wedding after all—”

“Do not speak so hastily, my lord,” came a lazy voice from behind them, and Jaime Lannister came strolling into the training yard in full golden armour, his sword at his hip.

There was a shocked murmur from the ramparts, and Selwyn heard Brienne’s intake of breath from the other side of the yard. “What do you mean by that?” he asked the Kingslayer belligerently.

“I mean,” said the Kingslayer, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, “that I would like to duel the Lady Brienne myself. Whoever can beat her gets to marry her, is that correct?”

Selwyn was too speechless to respond. Brienne answered for him, giving the Kingslayer the tiniest of smiles. “That does not apply to everyone, ser.”

“Indeed?” Jaime moved closer to her. “Then who does it apply to?”

“It applies only to certain suitors who are under my consideration.”

Jaime unsheathed his sword. “Then will you at least consider me?”

Brienne’s sky-blue eyes were shimmering with the beginnings of tears. “I thought you’d changed your mind,” she whispered.

Selwyn stared at them, uncomprehending. Surely this was some jape; he could not possibly be serious. “This is not funny, ser,” he interjected.

“I know,” said Jaime, turning to him. “I am quite serious. I would like to marry your daughter. I have expressed this wish to her before, but she turned me down. She doubted my feelings. Now I intend to convince her of my sincerity.”

“And what of your vows?” Selwyn demanded.

The Kingslayer nodded. “At present my vows prevent me, it’s true. But as soon as I return to King’s Landing I intend to leave the Kingsguard and become Lord of Casterly Rock, with Brienne as my lady. If she wills it.”

For a moment Selwyn’s breath left him. _Lady of Casterly Rock_. He had not expected this. Gods, if he was serious…

Jaime’s eyes had drifted back to Brienne’s. “Will you consider me, Brienne?” he asked softly.

It felt like a surreal dream, unfolding in broad daylight before Selwyn’s disbelieving eyes. So it was true, then, all of it; all of the vile rumours he had defended Brienne against, so blindly convinced of her innocence. And now he meant to marry her? But why?

He looked at the Kingslayer looking at Brienne, his gaze never wavering, as if nothing existed but her. Brienne gazed back as though transfixed, her grip slack on her sword. _Does he love her?_ The thought was sudden and shocking. His conversation with Jaime in his solar had grudgingly convinced him that Jaime did indeed care for his daughter, but love? _Gods be good, could he actually love her?_

“You still want me?” Brienne asked quietly.

“I will always want you,” the Kingslayer replied, his eyes never leaving Brienne’s. “You and you alone.”

Brienne gave him a tiny, tearful smile. Then she dragged her gaze from his to look at Selwyn, eyes wide and beseeching. “Father, please. Let me accept him.”

Selwyn swallowed. If the Kingslayer was serious, then this was a better match than he could ever have dreamed of. Brienne, the Lady of Casterly Rock. Besides, it was clear that she loved him, and that he might even reciprocate.

But if he wasn’t serious…

He looked at Brienne’s still-bandaged cheek, the noose marks around her neck. He pictured the two of them back out in the Riverlands, wandering around in their futile search for Sansa Stark. Jaime with one hand, Brienne with a sword she thought was magic. He thought of undead women and men with dogs’ teeth. His little girl and her big blue eyes.

 _I will keep her safe_ , Jaime had promised. But could he?

His chest tightened.

“If you truly want her,” he said to Jaime at last, “then you should be treated as her other suitors. You must fight her, too.”

Brienne looked at him, dismayed. “But Father, I fought Ser Humphrey and Lord Sebastion because they didn’t want to _let_ me fight. Jaime will let me. Can’t I just accept him?”

Selwyn shook his head, looking at Jaime’s golden hand. _He will lose_ , he thought, relaxing slightly. _He cannot fight. He won’t even fight a squire._ “He said he wanted to prove his sincerity. Let him prove it. If he wins, you can marry him.”

Jaime raised his sword. “Why not, wench?” he said, all lazy confidence. “It has been too long since we danced. You said so yourself.”

Brienne hesitated, unsure. Then suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Here,” she said, unsheathing her sword and handing it to him. “You take this… and I will use yours.”

Selwyn did not understand, but it was clear that Jaime did. He smiled at her, something secret passing between them, and gave her his own sword. It was a fine blade also, though nowhere near as ornate as Oathkeeper, and made from ordinary steel.

Suddenly he realised. _Ser Galladon, the Perfect Knight_. He had read it a thousand times to Brienne when she was a child; it had been her favourite tale. The Maiden gave him a magic sword; a sword that could win any battle.

_Her magic sword._

_She means to lose._

Suddenly his eyes were filled with tears.

When he blinked them away, he saw that they had begun to fight. Rarely had he seen two opponents so well matched; it was less like a fight than a dance, each of them seemingly anticipating what the other was about to do, as though they had rehearsed it. Though the Kingslayer was still a little clumsy with his left hand, he was still leagues better than Selwyn had expected; he had clearly been training. He was not quite at Brienne’s level, but they still matched each other’s movements perfectly.

At first they took turns defending and attacking, neither advancing over the other, steel singing as their swords kissed over and over and over again. _They are enjoying this,_ Selwyn realised. The Kingslayer was grinning, and although Brienne’s brow was furrowed with concentration, her eyes shone.

Finally, Jaime’s blade came up to block Brienne’s and held it there. For a moment they stood, motionless, looking at each other over the X of their crossed swords. Their faces were only inches apart. Then Brienne very deliberately dropped her sword. It landed on the ground between them with a loud clang.

“I yield,” she said.

The Kingslayer dropped his own sword, grabbed Brienne’s waist, pulled her close and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but passionate, and Brienne responded instantly, winding her arms around his neck, sinking into him. When they broke apart, she beamed at him, reaching up to tenderly brush a strand of golden hair out of his face, and he smiled back at her.

After a moment, she seemed to remember Selwyn’s presence and turned to look at him, her wide smile faltering. “Father…”

He stared at them, unable to speak. Jaime was looking at him too, serious now, his arm tightening protectively around Brienne’s waist, as though daring Selwyn to take her from him. Brienne looked anxious, worrying her bottom lip, but there was a new light shining in her eyes that had transformed her. For the first time, his daughter looked secure, self-assured, _happy._

 _I cannot lose her,_ he thought again.

He found his voice.

“You promised you would keep her safe,” he said to Jaime, his voice wavering only slightly. “Did you mean it?”

“I meant it,” Jaime said quietly. He was looking at Brienne again, and his eyes were soft. In spite of himself, Selwyn could not help but believe him.

He nodded, throat tight.

“I will not pretend to understand what is between you,” he said at last. “But Brienne, I told you that I would not have you unhappy. If this is what you want, what you truly want… then I will not prevent you.”

Brienne’s smile returned, bigger and brighter than before. “Thank you, Father,” she said quietly, eyes glistening.

Jaime smiled too. “You do me great honour, Lord Selwyn. I am grateful.”

Selwyn could only nod in response. They would speak further on the morrow, he decided. There was much and more to discuss and arrange, but he was too tired now. He felt as though he had aged fifty years this day.

He looked at them again. They were lost in each other again, oblivious to everything around them. Brienne was beaming like a maiden from a song; he had not seen her smile like that since she was twelve years old. Since before Red Ronnet and his thrice-damned rose.

Suddenly, in spite of all of his fears, all of his doubts and concerns, he could not help thinking that perhaps Brienne’s happiness was worth this after all.

His spirits tentatively lifting, he left them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this made up for the pain of the last chapter :))
> 
> Next and final chapter is Jaime once again!! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story so far!!


	7. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne smiled. “Once,” she said softly, “I dreamt you put a cloak around my shoulders. It was a rainbow one, though.”
> 
> “Are you sure it wasn’t Renly you dreamt of?” he teased her, ignoring the sudden and ridiculous stab of jealousy he felt.
> 
> “No,” she said, blue eyes serene, the picture of peace and contentment. She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw. “All my dreams are of you.”

They went to their separate chambers after dinner, to at least put up an appearance of propriety, but Jaime could only wait an hour before slipping out to knock on Brienne’s door. She answered in a thin nightgown that moulded itself appealingly to her endless legs, her cheeks flushed as though she had been thinking about him already. He did not even bother to step inside the door before he kissed her, not caring who saw them; everyone had seen them already anyway, everybody knew what this was. The thought made his heart soar.

Brienne kissed him back hungrily, walking backwards towards the bed even as she mumbled between kisses that they really shouldn’t do this, Jaime, they were in her father’s house, they were lucky he had even agreed to the betrothal (by this point he was sitting on the bed and pulling her to straddle his lap, her hands on his face, his hand massaging her bare thigh beneath her nightgown), and anyway (he was kissing her neck now), and anyway…

“And anyway what?” he asked her when he pulled away, his voice low and teasing, his hand still on her thigh. He knew she could feel how hard he was, knew it from the even deeper flush creeping up her neck. She was positioned against him so perfectly; gods, all they had to do was unlace his breeches and push her nightgown up and they would be –

“Your Kingsguard vows!” said Brienne suddenly. She sounded so triumphant at having remembered that he had to laugh.

“I’ve broken them before, wench,” he said, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, making her sigh as her arms wound around his neck. “Besides, I’m leaving soon. It hardly matters.”

“I know, but…” She let out a little shriek when he let himself fall back on the bed, pulling her with him to lie on top of him, then laughed into his neck. He had never seen her like this, so girlish and giggly. So _happy._

“But what?” he asked, running his hand down her spine.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She kissed him again, smiling against his mouth, clumsy and inexperienced but so hungry for him. Later, he knew, when the heat of the moment was over, she would be shy and embarrassed again, and he would tell her how sweetly she kissed and how good it felt to finally touch her, how he had wanted her for so long, and how beautiful her ragged voice sounded when she breathed his name in his ear, as she did now.

Later, he would tell her. They had plenty of time.

He woke to the sound of waves crashing beneath the window and Brienne’s gentle fingertrips tracing his face, tentative, as though making sure he was real. He half-wanted to feign sleep a little longer, enjoying the balm of her touch, but when her fingers brushed his lips he could not help kissing them. She snatched her hand back, startled.

He opened his eyes. “Do you still doubt me, wench?”

She blushed. He liked her like this, he decided; sleepy and blushing, the morning sunlight in her tousled hair, one enticingly bare shoulder visible beneath the blankets. Nobody else had ever seen this Brienne; she was only for him.

“No,” she murmured. “No more doubts.”

He felt his heart warm, and he moved in to kiss her, long and langorous. “Good.”

When they broke apart, she nestled her head in the crook of his neck, draping her arm across his chest. “Where will we marry?”

He stroked her hair. Brienne’s hair was much softer than it looked, he had been delighted to discover when they’d kissed after the feast, though he had not had much chance to explore that at the time. He meant to make up for it now. “Wherever you like, sweetling. I suppose we’ll have to return to King’s Landing first, so I can formally renounce my white cloak. We could marry there, in front of all the court.” He relished the thought of their shock when he returned from the dead only to dramatically leave the Kingsguard and wed the Maid of Tarth. _If only Tyrion were still there,_ he thought.

Brienne did not seem quite so amused at the idea. Her nose wrinkled. “Would Cersei allow that?”

Jaime sighed. “Cersei might still be in prison. Or she could be dead, for all I know. But even if she does happen to be alive and free, there is little she can do to stop me from claiming the Rock and marrying who I like.”

“She could slip poison into my wine.”

He paused. “Yes, she could. Very well, then, perhaps not King’s Landing. How about the Riverlands? As soon as we get there we can ask the first septon we find. Or would you prefer a proper wedding, with the cloaks and the feast? We could do that here. Or at the Rock.”

Brienne smiled. “Once,” she said softly, “I dreamt you put a cloak around my shoulders. It was a rainbow one, though.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Renly you dreamt of?” he teased her, ignoring the sudden and ridiculous stab of jealousy he felt.

“No,” she said, blue eyes serene, the picture of peace and contentment. She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw. “All my dreams are of you.”

The sudden swelling of his heart left his throat too tight for words, so he kissed her instead. She kissed him back, slowly, deeply, her hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, anchoring him to her. Nothing had ever felt so right, so good. How had it taken him so long to kiss her? _I should have kissed her in the White Sword Tower, or in the bathtub at Harrenhal. I should have kissed her a thousand times by now._

When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers. “All my dreams are of you, too.”

She smiled. “I’d like the Riverlands,” she murmured. “Just me and you.”

“The Riverlands it is, wench.”

Brienne huffed a laugh and rolled away from him. “What’s wrong?” he asked her, miffed by the sudden loss of her warmth.

She shook her head, smiling. “That was a very romantic moment.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Like something from a tale.”

“And?”

“And then you called me wench.”

He grinned. “I know you’ve grown to love that name, do not pretend otherwise.”

“Believe me, ser, I am not pretending.”

“What name would you prefer, then? My love? My sweetling? My lady of Lannister? Oh, no, wait. I have it.” He leaned over her and kissed her crooked nose. “My perfect knight.”

He expected her to protest, but she just smiled up at him, a smile as lovely as the dawn. “All right.”

He smiled back at her, no doubt looking as stupid and lovesick as he felt, pulled the blankets from her so that her pale skin turned to marble in the morning sunlight, and kissed her until she melted beneath him and nothing else existed but the two of them, together, and the crash of the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!
> 
> I've enjoyed writing this stupid soppy fic so much. Thank you to everyone who read it and left comments and kudos, you're all so nice and I love and appreciate you all!! Btw if you’re interested you can find me on tumblr @djeli-beybi 💕


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